Fanning the Flames in a World on Fire
by TheVelvetRose 1120
Summary: Viola was undercover in Sharzad trying to take down an arms dealer when SHIELD fell. When all of its info was leaked online she was discovered and barely made it out alive. Now she's left with her crappy apartment just outside Hell's Kitchen, a slightly higher than minimum wage job, and no purpose in life. What's a girl to do? Become a hero, of course. CC spin-off but stands alone.
1. Prologue

**Fanning the Flames**

 **Prologue - Matt's POV**

It's a windy day in Manhattan. It's the kind of day where Jack Frost nips viciously at your exposed fingers and nose and ears, anywhere he can sink his ice-cold teeth into. It's sunny, but there's no warmth. At least, I don't feel any. Foggy claims that the sun is shining brightly, but if I didn't know for a fact that he slipped on his sunglasses earlier, I wouldn't believe him.

"… sense to keep taking cases that aren't going to make us any money," Foggy is saying as we walk.

"It makes perfect sense," I argue, as I have almost every day for the past month. Foggy complaining about money is becoming almost as frequent as Foggy mentioning that his mom wanted him to be a butcher.

"I don't want to hear your bull-shit about protecting the innocent, Matt. Yes, I know that's why we got into this business, but we can't _stay_ in this business without moolah!" Skin rubs against skin in front of my face and I know that Foggy is rubbing his fingers and thumbs together in the universal sign for "money".

"That's how it starts," I counter. "Next thing you know, we're those bloodthirsty shark lawyers from Legally Blonde."

Foggy bursts out laughing, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Okay, which one of your past 'girlfriends' made you watch that?

My lips twitch. "Maya."

"Which one's that again?"

"The one from Zimbabwe."

Foggy snaps his fingers. "Right! Her." He stops suddenly, pulling on my arm. "Dude, I was just assaulted by the best smell in the world."

I know. I'm assaulted by it too. It's sweet pastries and delicious chocolate. It's steamed milk and ground beans. "Is it coffee?"

"Of course it's coffee! You made me skip my cup o' joe this morning so we could drive all the way down here to meet this new client of ours." He leans in closer even though he doesn't have to, his breath changing the air currents around my ear. "Can you tell if it's the good kind of coffee?"

I lick my lips. "Yeah. It is."

"We're going in."

I don't argue and let myself be pulled into the café. The door jingles as it opens and all of the sounds and smells hit me at once. It would be disorienting if I wasn't so used to it. As the door closes and the honks, tires, and wind disappear, each individual conversation begins to filter through.

"… cheated on me! The lying, dirty, rotten…"

"… how it feels to be that close to nature…"

"… learned my lesson, you know?"

"… not every day you see such a…"

"Will that be all, Sir?"

I freeze.

Female. Light accent. Low pitch. Coming from he direction of the coffee blenders and beeping cash register. I know that voice. I've only ever heard it over the course of one night, but it's as familiar to me as the glasses on my face. I reach for Foggy and grab his elbow. I have to be _sure_. "The barista," I whisper. "What does she look like?"

"Really?" Foggy says exasperatedly. "You thinking about sleeping with her too? You have to tell me one of these days how you can tell how hot they are." Regardless of his grumblings, he looks over at the counter while stepping in line, pulling me with him. "Tall. About your height. Long black hair that's lighter at the ends. Some kind of attractive exotic."

"Does she look Egyptian?"

Foggy pauses. "If you told me she was I wouldn't be surprised."

I curse under my breath. "What's her name tag say?"

"Let's find out." Foggy drags me up to the counter.

I turn away abruptly, trying not to be recognized. I know it's cowardly, but I need to be sure it's her before I face this. _Face what, exactly_? To be honest, I really don't know.

"I'll have a large dark roast triple triple please… Viola," Foggy orders casually.

I try not to stiffen, but the grip on my cane tightens anyway. It's her. The girl I slept with at a house party while I was at Columbia. The one I couldn't stop thinking about for weeks afterward. The one I pushed away because I felt... something. _Please don't remember me._

"Coming right up," she says. "And for your friend?"

"Matt?"

 _Damn it, Foggy_. "I'll… I'll have a large one milk. Please."

"Sure thing." Does she not remember me? "I don't seem to remember you taking milk in your coffee in your college days," she says casually, fingers clacking against the touch-screen cash.

 _Fuck_. "Uh, Foggy convinced me to stop taking it black."

"Why?"

"He said I would absorb all of the bitterness one day and become a grumpy old man."

She laughs. I remember how nice it was to listen to it that night so long ago. How long has it been? Four years? Six? "That's all it took to convince you?" She asks.

I shrug, cracking a small smile. This encounter is surprisingly un-awkward, but I'm not one to hold out much hope with these kinds of things. "I also like milk."

She chuckles again. There's a rustle of plastic and metal coins falling against skin and brushing against palms. I didn't even notice that Foggy had paid for the both of us. I'll thank him later. "Well, it was nice seeing you again, Matt."

That's it? "Yeah. You too. Take care." That's it. Foggy and I move down the counter to pick up our coffees. I keep one ear trained on her voice. The familiarity of it is like a foghorn, blaring at me and forcing me to listen. What did she say her accent was? French Canadian?

Foggy's elbow jabs me in the ribs like the knife from last night. Pain sends a flare up my torso to my neck and I barely manage to disguise the flinch behind my glasses. "What was that all about?" He whispers, though to me it's like full volume. "You totally turned up the charm."

"I did not," I say truthfully, resisting the urge to rub my side, where I can feel the bandages peeling. I'm going to have to change them soon.

"I'm giving you a look of disbelief right now."

"She's a… an old flame."

"Ex-girlfriend?"

"No. More of a… one-night stand."

"One-night stand? And she still remembers you? Dude."

"I wasn't expecting her to, but she did. That night didn't end well and I was expecting it to be awkward or for her to be mad, but she wasn't."

"Maybe she's ready for round two?" Foggy's elbow continues prodding me in the side and I grit my teeth. "C'mon, Murdock. Get back in the ring!"

I almost snort. "Yeah, no. Not happening."

"Why not?"

That is a good question.

* * *

I can't get her out of my thoughts. She's like a sticky note attached to the inside of my head that I can't shake off. I can't bring myself to peel it away either. Sticky notes function as reminders and this is something, someone, I don't want to forget.

Foggy and I get cabs downtown and back, sometimes taking turns, sometimes together. We have regular meetings with our client and every single time we go, we pass Viola's coffee shop. I can always smell the fresh pastries. Occasionally the door will open when we're nearby and I'll strain to hear her voice. It's a temptation that gets harder and harder to resist.

I wonder if she sees me through the window. I wonder if she thinks about me. I wonder if I'm like a sticky note or a parasite that just won't go away or if maybe I've been pushed from her mind as easily as wiping away a drop of water.

* * *

My alarm clock fails me and I'm late. I only got home an hour before I was supposed to get up and I slept through the music that was supposed to startle me back into the land of the living. The meeting is over by the time I get there, hastily dressed and out of breath.

Foggy catches me by the arm before I can go in. "Where were you?" He asks sternly, letting go almost reluctantly. His fingers are tense. He probably wants to punch me. I don't blame him.

"Foggy, I'm sorry-"

"Where were you?"

"I-" I wince. "I slept in."

Foggy knows why. He sighs. "Are you hurt?"

"Just bruised."

There's a swish of hair, Foggy shaking his head at me, before I'm steered down the street, away from our client's building. Foggy doesn't let go. "Have you had breakfast yet? Or lunch, for that matter?"

"No."

"Then come on. We're getting food." He practically shoves me along the sidewalk, then pulls away roughly. I can only assume that manhandling a blind guy doesn't look good in public. Or anywhere, really.

I smell Viola's café and Foggy grabs my arm. "No," I say immediately, digging my heels into the pavement. "Not here."

"Why not? You said it wasn't awkward."

"That was then. This is… now."

"Stop being such a child. Come on. Their coffee is to die for and after the morning I just had, I'm in dire need of some." The bell over the door jingles too quickly and too loudly.

I sigh. I don't think it's me who's being the child. Regardless, I'm a mature adult approaching thirty years old. I can do this.

I tap my cane against the one stair and step into the café, swarmed by the warm, delicious atmosphere of the place. As soon as the door closes, bell jingling, I hear her.

"… -tually that's Starbucks-" Her voice is breathy and slightly strained.

"Well, why don't you serve it?" Old man. Grumpy. Scratchy voice.

"Because we're not a chain-"

"Well, you should be! I want my name written on that cup!"

"I can do that if you really want. What's your-?"

"Good! And don't spell my name wrong!"

"What is your-?

"I'll be sitting over there." There's the tapping of a cane, a wooden one for people who can't walk rather than for people who can't see. The tapping continues past me and I hear him mutter under his breath: "Damn immigrants."

I frown and reach for his arm to stop him and force him to apologize, but Foggy has yanked my other arm and dragged me towards Viola's voice.

"Hi guys," she greets. I can hear the smile in her voice. She doesn't seem at all bothered by the racist customer she just had to deal with. "What'll it be?"

"Is there a special today, Viola?" Foggy asks, his jacket sliding against the counter as he leans toward her. My frown deepens. What is he doing?

"No, but we've got Valentine's Day-related everything."

"Can I get a double espresso please?"

"I can pour some candy hearts in there if you'd like."

"No thanks. I'm going to throw it back and don't want to choke and die."

"Wouldn't want that," she chuckles. "Matt?"

Right. I exist as more than a ghost watching a conversation. "Uh, one of those holiday drinks," I say.

"Which one? We've got tons. Cappuccino. Latte. Mocha. Hot chocolate."

"Let's go for a mocha."

"You're feeling uncharacteristically sweet today," says Foggy faux casually.

I shrug. "I'm trying something new."

"She's smiling," he informs me with a smile of his own.

I try not to grin, but don't quite succeed.

"Mocha it is, then."

I pay this time and Foggy and I move down the counter to get our drinks. He keeps elbowing me, but I ignore him. It's easier when there's no knife wound there.

"Gregory!" Viola calls.

The tapping of the wooden cane resumes, getting closer. "It's Greg!" _Splatsplat_! Some spit lands on the wooden floor.

"Considering you never told me your name, I think I did pretty well." There's a sort of smugness to her voice as Greg's fingers brush against the Styrofoam cup.

"Humph!" More tapping before Greg grunts and falls into his chair.

"Double espresso and a peppermint mocha for Matt and his friend?" This voice is new. Closer. Female. Young. Probably adolescent. High-pitch. On the quiet side. Very calm.

I turn towards her. "You know my name?" I ask, reaching for the cup.

She gently places it in my hand. "Yeah. Viola wrote it on the cup. The other one says 'Matt's friend'."

Foggy snorts. "So she can deduce Mr. Gregory Gargoyle's name, but not mine?"

Clothing rustles and I assume the barista just shrugged. "She said his name was written on the tag that was sticking out of the back of his shirt. Don't know why she wrote your name, though. You someone special?"

It's two o'clock in the afternoon and the café isn't busy, so I can understand that she has time to make friendly conversation with the customers. What I don't understand is why Viola wrote my name on that cup.

"No," I reply, shifting my fingers around the cup so that the heat doesn't burn. "Just a…" Friend is too close. Ex is too personal. "… an acquaintance."

* * *

As the trial nears, the visits to our client in downtown Manhattan become daily. So to do our visits to Viola's café. Foggy claims that the sole reason is because the coffee there is magnificent (which it is), but I think there's something more to it – for him and for me.

Every time, I learn a little bit more about her and she learns a little bit more about me. She congratulates me on successfully becoming a lawyer and I congratulate her on being able to afford an apartment in Manhattan on a barista's salary. She laughs. Almost every day, she laughs. It's a beautiful sound. Sometimes I can't get it out of my head.

I think about her way too much to be just "acquaintances". But that's all we ever _can_ be. It's all I'll ever let us be. She deserves better.

I learn that she lives alone and is trying to get her life back together after something happened, something she won't tell me. We both have secrets, so I don't mind her not telling me, even if I'm insanely curious. I keep coming back to the "break-up" theory, but she doesn't strike me as someone who would run from that or let it control her life. I could be wrong, though. Which is why it bugs me so much that I don't know for sure.

She tells me about how she's having a bit of a crisis because she doesn't know what to do with her life now that her job no longer exists. I caught her on her break one time, having come without Foggy because at that point it was simply routine, and she confided in me. I don't know why she feels like she can trust me or that I'm someone who would give good advice. Maybe she doesn't have anyone else.

Her last job was all about helping people. Now she's a barista at a café. She told me not to get her wrong – she likes her job, she really does, but it's not fulfilling. I can understand why. It's why I became a lawyer. To help people. To get something from my job that I couldn't get in my everyday life. It's why I became the man in the mask. I'm not about to suggest that she become a vigilante. That would be stupid.

It's stupid that I have to keep telling myself that.

I told her that she could be whatever she wanted, but she didn't know what that was. I said that there was always law school. She laughed, breaking the tension, and thanked me for listening. She said she didn't need me to have an answer, just someone to hear her without judgment.

I stop going to the café after that. We won the case. And I didn't want Viola to get the wrong impression. Foggy keeps "subtly" mentioning her, but I pretend not to notice. Eventually he drops the subject altogether. I'm supposed to forget all about her and move on with my life. We're not supposed to see each other again.

But somehow… by fluke or divine intervention… we do.

 **Author's Note: Hello! Thanks for reading this far! I like you already ;)**

 **So this is a story that takes place within the MCU and, considering the main character will be an OC, does change things up, but I do try and relatively stick to canon. Please don't ask me about ages and timelines. I tried to figure it all out once. *shudders* It _should_ make sense (or at least it should _seem_ to). To clarify a couple of things, this story takes place between S1 and S2 of Daredevil and partway through S2 of Agents of SHIELD (don't ask how, it just does). It's early 2015 (again, don't ask). It will kind of bounce back and forth between the two shows so hopefully you're caught up with them. I will be doing some episode re-writes of AoS to fit Viola in somewhere, but I will try to avoid that as much as possible.**

 **One other thing. This does take place within my Coffee Chronicles series, but you don't have to read those to understand this. This is a spin-off and only touches on the other stories in typical Marvel easter egg format. At least, that's the plan.**

 **With all that said and done, I hope you enjoy the prologue to Fanning the Flames!**

 **P.S. The rest of the story will be from Viola's POV. I was originally going to alternate between her and Matt, but realized that she was more central to the story and would ultimately dominate anyway so... he gets to be the narrator here instead :)**

 **Disclaimer - I don't own Daredevil, Agents of SHIELD, etc. I own Viola Stevenson and the cafe she works at as well as the other cafe workers and OCs you may notice.**


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One – Viola's POV**

I normally have soft music playing from my phone when I do this, but for some reason the volume isn't working. One more thing to add to my ever growing shopping list. I'm pretty sure it's gathering dust in the back of my head somewhere while I wait for Friday.

I resist the urge to sigh.

Relaxation. This is supposed to be relaxing.

My leg circles gracefully around the carpet and molds to its softness, my knee bending accordingly as I shift my weight and glide my arms to the right. Tai chi has always been one of those things that helps me slow down a little and appreciate life. I tend to move too fast, always bouncing from one thing to the next. This is like me stopping to smell the roses.

Which reminds me, I need to buy some Febreze. I haven't done a good clean of the apartment recently which means it's starting to smell again. I mentally add that to my to-do list, which is also gathering dust but in a different corner of my mind.

I step into the next move as fluidly as I can, turning to face the window. Sunlight brightens the backs of my eyelids, but I refuse to open them. My window tends to magnify light in the early morning as if trying to wake me up by blinding me – with my eyes closed.

It also does that when I'm hung-over.

Without the music, the silence rings in my ears, like my world hasn't been quiet in a long, long time. It bothers me, high-pitched and shrill and buried inside my ears. I would wear headphones, but my current outfit (yoga pants and a camisole) doesn't have any pockets to keep my phone in.

Right. Gentle thoughts.

Deep breath in.

…

Deep breath out.

…

 _Bang._

I pause and crack one eye open. Someone dropped something on the floor above me. _Bangbangbangbangbang._ I sigh. The Marylands are up.

Determined to finish my routine, I close my eye again and breathe into the next movement. I can hear shouting now, and rapid footsteps and objects being bumped into. There's yelling next door, probably at the Marylands to quiet down.

At least the ringing has died away.

Someone down the street honks, which is followed by a dozen more honks and suddenly I wonder how I could ever _not_ hear New York traffic.

I finish the routine with as much focus as I can muster, trying to find my center but not quite succeeding, and bow at the end. Well, I managed to find like two seconds of relative peace and quiet.

I think that's a record.

I walk over to my nightstand and hit the home button on my phone to check the time. It's only seven-oh-seven. I don't have to be at work until eight, when all the people who come in right before work decide they need coffee to make it through the day decide to ruin mine. I reach up and work the elastic out of my hair as I walk toward the bathroom to take my shower.

I'm out in less than fifteen minutes, towel drying my hair as best I can. After a very quick egg-in-a-mug poor person with no time kind of breakfast, I grab a pear and my backpack, shove my limbs into some winter gear, and head out the door, locking it tightly behind me.

Chet's door is still closed and I haven't heard anything from him this morning, so he probably slept in. I don't blame him, working the shifts he does. It's too bad his daughter will be late for school if he doesn't get out of bed. I bang my fist on his door. "Chet! Wake up you sleepyhead!"

The handle jiggles almost right away but doesn't open.

"Angie?" I call, kneeling to hear her better. "Angie, it's Viola. Can you open the door?"

The lock clicks and the door yanks open, slamming to a halt just inches from the frame, held ajar by the rusty chain too high for Angie to reach. A big brown eye and a head of messy black hair peeks through the space, peering at me warily. Her face breaks into a smile when she sees me. "Vi!"

I grin. "Hey, Angie! Is daddy up yet?"

She huffs. "No."

"What time did he get home last night?"

She shrugs. "Dunno. I woke up and he was here."

I hum. "Can you wake him up for me?"

"Can't I just stay home today?" She whines, pressing up against the door with melancholy.

I laugh softly. "You don't want to go to school?"

She shakes her head.

"What if I do your hair like I did last time? Don't you want everyone to see how beautiful you are?"

Her eyes light up. "Really?"

I nod. "Really."

"DADDY!" She screams, pretty much slamming the door in my face as she runs for the master bedroom.

Chuckling, I push myself to my feet and wait for the door to open. Eventually, there's the telltale sound of lazy footsteps trudging toward me. The door swings open to reveal a slouched and baggy-eyed Chet, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Poor guy.

"Up and at 'em, sunshine," I sing-song loudly, shrugging past him into the apartment. I pat the bar stool at the kitchen counter and Angie climbs up eagerly. She fidgets until she's comfortable and then holds very still. I drop my backpack to the floor and begin parting Angie's hair. "Look at this! Gorgeous!" I gush, fluffing it up like a perky hairstylist.

Angie giggles, pleased.

Chet shuffles into the kitchen belatedly, heading straight for the coffee machine. He goes through the motions like a zombie, not even saying a word to me in greeting. The glance of gratitude/annoyance he gives me is enough.

I pull some bobby pins from my pocket and begin pinning Angie's hair in a simple but elegant bun, with a single curl framing the side of her face. "There," I say with a flourish of my hands. "Even prettier than you already were." She practically throws herself off the stool and dashes to the bathroom, clambering up onto the counter to get a look at herself in the mirror.

I can see her reflection through the doorway and she's beaming like she's just found the perfect prom dress. "I love it!" She hops down and runs back, hugging my legs tightly. "Thank you!"

I pat her head, mindful of the hairdo, and smile at her. "You're very welcome. I have to get to work now, okay?"

She pouts, but nods. She knows by now that adults have to get to work on time no matter what. "Will you come see me after?"

"Maybe," I answer vaguely, bending down to give her a proper hug. "Do me a favour? Make sure your dad eats breakfast, okay? Coffee is not a substitute for food."

She nods vigorously. "Got it."

"Okay, good. I'll see you later, kiddo." I resist the urge to ruffle her hair and stand, slinging my backpack over my shoulder in the process. I wave to Chet, who grunts back as he sips his coffee. I take that as "good-bye" and close the door behind me.

Mrs. Ali greets me in the hallway. I smile back and nod politely. "Good morning, Mrs. Ali."

She nods as well. Her English isn't very good, but she's always smiling so that's something. We take the elevator together to the lobby and then part ways in comfortable silence outside.

I have to take a cab to work, as it's too far to walk, but it's too expensive to move closer so cabbing it is. "Taxi!" I shout, flagging the first one I see. It pulls up and I fold myself inside, shutting the door beside me. "Your Coffee Shop please."

It sounds like a generic name for a hole-in-the-wall place only resident New Yorkers will have heard of, but it's actually one of the most famous in all of Manhattan, largely due to the fact that it's owned by Tania Banks and Steve Rogers, well-known Avengers and apparently business savvy employers.

The grand opening just last month was a well-attended event, surrounded mostly by paparazzi and local journalists. Tania told me that applications absolutely poured in once the public found out that Sonata was going to be their boss.

I was one of the lucky ones who met Tania beforehand and happened to have a very good work reference (thank you, Clint). Peter Parker and I were two of the first to apply and therefore two of the first to be hired. The others are people from all over town, all charismatic and trustworthy to some degree. Nora is a twenty-something woman with blue hair and the sweetest smile. Miles is the handsome shy kid who's nice and polite but keeps to himself. Tyler is the extremely tall football player who also happens to be a giant teddy bear. And then there's me, the twenty-something adrenaline junkie working in customer service with a degree in mythology, waiting for my life to regain the excitement it once had when I worked for SHIELD.

Before I know it, entire blocks of the city whizz by and I'm at my destination. I thank and pay the driver before getting out and pushing open the door to the café. It's well-heated, unlike my apartment, and I breathe a sigh of relief as warmth engulfs me, chasing away the cold of the winter air that had given me goosebumps.

Nora greets me, like usual. She's one of the ones who works the early morning shifts. She starts at five every morning and I don't know how she does. With lots of sleep, probably. "Hey, Viola."

"Hey," I reply, shrugging off my bag and my jacket as I walk behind the counter. "How are you?"

"I'm great! How are you?"

"Good," I say, smiling at her as I walk past and through the door to the kitchen. On the far wall, there's a line of hooks, half of which are currently occupied with coats and purses. I add mine to the collection and brush dust from my uniform. Tania asked us what we would prefer and the collective agreement was a simple T-shirt with the café logo on it. Tania had acquiesced and given us brown polos with the name of the shop above the breast pocket. Pants and closed shoes were required, so I'm dressed in light blue jeans and bright red converse today, my hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Nora!" Calls Tyler, who's kicking off his winter boots to switch shoes next to me. "Time to start making the next batch!" His voice is low and it booms without effort, reaching the furthest corner of the café easily.

"Coming!" Chimes Nora and she glides into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of the sweater she has on over the uniform. She's the best pastry chef we've got and thrice a day she sets out to bake the pastries we put in the display case up front. When she's not doing that, she's behind the counter as a barista, like me.

I was a waitress in high school, so the experience really helps me to deal with customers nowadays. It also makes me wonder why on _Earth_ I would go back to customer service.

Stupid desperation for money.

The day passes like normal, speeding up and slowing down in spurts depending on how many customers decide they want coffee today. For the seventh day in a row, both Matt and Foggy are no shows. I'm trying not to be disappointed, but I don't think I'm succeeding if my droopy shoulders are anything to go by.

Maybe they weren't coming her for me. It was stupid to think they were. Well, to think Matt was. I'd thought maybe we could reconnect. Be friends. Get to know each other. But again, Matt blows me off. Just like the first time.

I just want to be friends with the guy, for goodness sake. No ulterior motives here! I guess he doesn't believe me.

Fine then. His loss.

Nora tells me the exact same thing after work, shrugging on her coat as she prepares to dive back into the cold outside. She lives a few blocks from here and it's a brisk walk but she refuses to take a taxi. To be honest, I really can't blame her.

Peter shows up at four to take my place and he greets me with a fist bump, like usual. I tell him that we're there's some old pastries in the back from this morning so he can take one if he wants. I happen to know that he has to push back to dinner to work here after school so he's always hungry during his shift.

"Lit!" He whoops, shoving the back door open to get to the croissant before anyone else.

I chuckle and follow, grabbing my own jacket just as he tosses his haphazardly towards the hooks. It lands perfectly. I wrap my purple scarf around my neck and slip on some gloves. "Alright, see ya, Peter!"

"Catch ya later!" He calls with a mouth full of croissant. He kicks his skateboard across the room so that it rolls into the wall beneath his coat.

I shake my head and sling my backpack over my shoulder, ready to face the winter.

* * *

I barely have five minutes after I walk through my door before Chet comes knocking. "Viola, I think you should see this."

Together we walk back to his place, the reporter on TV talking louder and louder as we approach. "… sources are saying that SHIELD is responsible." Under the video of the reporter is a running stream of text in big bold letters that screams: ATTACK ON THE U.N. EXPLOSION KILLS AT LEAST FIVE.

It's not possible. SHIELD is gone. It's… It was destroyed in the Battle of DC. Hydra tore it apart from the inside out. Romanoff leaked all of its information online. Government secrets were trending on Twitter. There's no way SHIELD could still exist after that.

So how could they be blamed for a terrorist attack on the United Nations? More importantly, why would they attack in the first place? It had to be Hydra. They must have survived.

And if Hydra survived… even a small part… maybe SHIELD did too.

After all, why blame an organization that supposedly doesn't exist for something they would never do? Why attack the reputation of something that's supposed to be gone?

I thank Chet for showing me and bolt for my apartment. He doesn't follow and I'm grateful. I'll hopefully be able to explain the basics to him later, once I learn them myself. I dig through the contents of my desk, searching amongst the clutter of my useless organizers.

I really need to tidy up in here.

I finally find what I'm looking for, tucked between two envelopes in the top drawer of my desk. It's a simple black business card with the SHIELD insignia on one side and a phone number in white lettering on the other. No name, no email address. But I know exactly who I'm calling. I've dialed before I even register that that's what I should do.

It rings.

He answers. _"Hello. Who is this?"_ Formal yet suspicious. Definitely Coulson.

"Viola Stevenson, Sir. Do you remember me?"

" _Right, right. Of course I remember you. You took down those robots like a pro."_

"You didn't even see me fight them."

" _I have friends in the business."_ Did he speak to Sharon? Maybe she recommended me? Goodness knows Vasquez or the others wouldn't have.

"Speaking of which, I just saw the news."

" _Oh?"_

I wait for him to say more, but he waits for me instead. I hesitate a moment. It's been a few months since I've done anything remotely spy-like, but years of training and missions doesn't just go away. "Is the line secure?"

" _On my end it is."_

I sit down on my bean bag chair facing the window in my tiny living room. The lighting is dim, emphasized by the cloudiness outside. My mood feels suspended, like I'm literally hanging off his every word, waiting for something to drop. That something is probably me. "I have to know. Does SHIELD still exist?"

There's a beat of silence on his end. On my end, the neighbors are clunking around noisily. Then finally: _"You know you're the first person to ask me that today? Most people have come to me asking, 'Did we do it? Did SHIELD do it? Did_ you _do it?' But you don't have any doubts about that, do you? You just want to know if SHIELD is real. If we survived."_ I'm holding my breath. Spit it out already, Coulson. _"As long as Hydra exists, SHIELD will be there to fight them."_ It's cryptic yet telling at the same time.

I release my breath in one long exhale. SHIELD still exists. Even after the death of Fury, _SHIELD still exists_. That precipice I was standing on earlier falls away and I descend into relief. "You gave me this card for a reason," I say cautiously, unwilling to get my hopes up but already smiling in anticipation. "Does your offer still stand?"

 _"That depends on your answer."_

"Hell yes."

He chuckles. _"Welcome back, Agent Stevenson."_


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics division. Words that have been repeated by me and to me so many times that I feel like a broken record just thinking about them. But they mean something. I don't mean that in the literal sense. I mean that they mean something to _me._

SHIELD has existed for decades, ever since Peggy Carter and Howard Stark founded it in the late nineteen forties, but I had never heard of it until Dad started working for them when I was five.

He was struggling for work, trying to make ends meet as a single father in Brooklyn, New York. One day, Dad was caught up in a robbery attempt at a 7-11. He stopped the criminal and saved a man's life. It turns out that that man was wanted by SHIELD for unrelated crimes. Still, they took notice.

I don't remember much about that time, but Dad was a lot more relaxed now that we had a solid income. I have a memory of him taking me shopping the very next day. We went to a toy store and stopped just inside. He told me I could pick anything I wanted. I could care less now about whatever insignificant thing I picked, but I remember that feeling of pure joy when I realized that I had freedom to choose.

It felt like the best feeling in the whole world.

When I was eighteen, Dad volunteered to drop into a mission last-minute with very little briefing to replace an agent who'd been injured earlier that day and a replacement had been desperately needed. The intel was wrong and Dad got caught in the crossfire. He died jumping in front of a bullet for another agent.

Losing him was like watching a part of myself crumble to dust. It was like all of my memories of him had been tainted in this intangible sense of "death". The Dad I knew was gone. No new memories would come. They were all I had and they were being altered by my grief.

I couldn't have that.

So I got over it.

Eventually.

SHIELD came knocking on my door a few years later, when I was in the middle of getting my degree. I told them no. I didn't want to be an agent. I didn't want my life to end early like Dad's. I didn't want to be reminded of him day in and day out. I didn't want to be his legacy.

And then I graduated and realized the hard way that mythology is pretty fucking useless. Interesting, but useless. After more than one eviction notice, my desperation forced me to relent.

I became an agent of SHIELD.

And I really, really liked it.

I have this thing about adrenaline and getting my blood pumping. Missions were perfect for that. I could save people every day. The pay was pretty good. And I could be like my dad in ways I hadn't considered before. He was a hero and I could be just like him. The people at SHIELD who knew him would tell me that I reminded them of him and to me that was the biggest compliment anyone could give.

SHIELD is where I met my best friend Sharon. We went through training together and kept in contact all these years. After a while, Agent Hill set me up with my own team and dubbed me leader. This was after a significant amount of time working at SHIELD, when I was comfortable with everything.

We were a strike team consisting of Sharon Carter, Javier Vasquez, Mike Lee, Tad Brown, Stephane Bouclier, and myself. The only person I got along with was Sharon. The others didn't respect me as much as they should. They were disrespectful and lazy and while they could do their jobs passably well, their attitudes pissed me off - Javier in particular. He was short-tempered and prone to violence when angry. He and Bouclier would spar and then trash talk and then suddenly the sparring would turn to real fighting.

It was ridiculous.

After fighting an army of evil robots alongside the Avengers last year, during which Brown nearly blew up a block of downtown Manhattan, I had finally had enough. I spoke to Hill and she dissolved the team. Sharon was sent to watch over Captain Rogers and Agent Banks in Washington while I went to Sharzhad with Agent Barton to take down the infamous arms dealer Dagan Sha. It was a dangerous operation that required months of preparation, planning, and execution. He and I were deep undercover when Captain America, Sonata, Falcon, and Black Widow discovered that Hydra, originally the Nazi weapons division, had infiltrated SHIELD from the very beginning and had been secretly growing from the inside, influencing world events over time to convince the people that security would be worth the loss of freedom.

SHIELD and Hydra fought each other valiantly, but it became evident afterward that SHIELD had suffered the bigger loss. After Romanoff leaked all of SHIELD's files online, the secret government peacekeeping organization could no longer be secret or keep secrets of its own and was therefore made obsolete.

Or so I, and everyone else, thought.

With the death of Director Fury, many felt that SHIELD had burned to ash. Many others didn't read the fine print and thought SHIELD and Hydra were the same thing. I mentioned I was a SHIELD agent in a job interview once and they kicked me out on the spot.

Hundreds of people dead. Hundreds more unemployed. And then there's me, floundering with my life and bored out of my mind.

Until now.

Coulson, _Director_ Coulson now, promised to give me the full run-down in person, but basically Fury had a back-up plan in case something like this ever happened. I'm not surprised his right hand man took his place as director. I think the job suits him rather well, actually.

SHIELD has a few secure bases left, with dozens of agents who remain loyal to the organization. Coulson promised I would get to be part of his elite team of agents if I could prove myself. I definitely plan to.

Three of his agents are en route to Japan to investigate something Hydra-related. Coulson asked me to join them and see how well we work together. Like a test. They'll pick me up from the rooftop soon.

I can't pack fast enough.

I know this is sudden. I know I can't just up and leave. I do have some attachments here. I can't just _move_. I still have to pay rent and I have a job and I promised Chet I'd babysit Angie tomorrow night but I _can't pass this up_.

This could be my one shot to get back in the game and I can already feel excitement throbbing in my chest. I practically vibrate with anticipation. I'm going to fight. I'm going to _run_.

I jog in place, warming up for what will no doubt be an exercise in both mind and body. Coulson couldn't really give me an ETA, so they could show up whenever. They'll be in a SHIELD-issue but logo-less quinjet. The world can't know the organization still exists. Half the population still thinks it's Hydra and the other half probably doesn't trust us after letting Hydra hide among us for so long anyway.

I stuff some clothes, toiletries, and basic essentials in an overnight bag, pacing back and forth across the apartment looking for things. I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't _wait_. I feel like a bee buzzing from flower to flower.

As I bounce back and forth in the living room, I dial Nora and shove the phone between my ear and shoulder. It rings a few times before clicking. _"Hello?"_

"Nora, hey, it's Viola. Can you do me a huge favour?" I make sure to sound extra polite and extra sweet.

 _"Oh no."_

"It's nothing huge," I rush to say, "I just need you to go into work tomorrow and tell Tania that I've taken a-" A what? I don't even know how long I'll be gone. "… a break. I'm taking the week off."

 _"What? But we've already got our schedules. It's too late to book off."_

"I know it's last minute, but that's why I need you to sweet talk her. You're much better at that than me."

 _"Dude. You are so fired."_

I groan. "No, no, look. Just- try and take the edge off, maybe? For me?"

 _"I feel like this news might be better coming from you directly. Why don't you just call her?"_

"Because she'll ask too many questions and I can't deal with them right now. I know this is sudden but I know you've been wanting more hours so you can have all of my shifts next week that you're not already working. Tell Peter he can have the others." I don't know why I'm going through all this trouble. I have a new job now. I can quit this one if I really want to. But I don't want to be too impulsive. Maybe this won't work out.

 _"Viola, what are you doing that's so important that you have to take an immediate week off work?"_

"Just trust me, okay? It's something good. This could be a really great opportunity for me. Just, please, cover for me, okay? Please? I will owe you like a million favours."

There's a pause. _"Make it a billion and you've got a deal."_

I laugh. "Deal."

 _"Okay, no, but seriously, you owe me."_

"You're the best."

 _"I mean it."_

"I'll take you out to dinner. And dessert," I add as an afterthought. "The best place in town."

Her surprise leaks through the phone. _"Can you_ afford _the best place in town?"_

"If this works out, yeah."

 _"Alright, then._ " She sounds pleased. _"Is this a date?"_

"If you'd like it to be." I say it without thinking, then realize I mean it.

I have to wait a few seconds as she ponders my words. _"Nah, I just don't see you that way. Not really my type."_

I grin. "Yeah, now that I think about it, you're not really my type either. Too cheery."

 _"Shut up. My optimism is my best trait."_

"Says you," I tease, dropping my bag on the counter and zipping it closed.

 _"I thought I told you to shut up?"_

"I'm hanging up now," I say as I grab the phone.

 _"Already gone,"_ she replies and hits "END".

I crack a smile and pocket the phone in my jeans. Oh, shoot. I have to change my shirt. Don't want to wear my coffee shop uniform to meet some fellow agents. I yank it off and toss it into the hamper by the bathroom door as I pass. I dig through my closet until I find an orange camisole and a navy zip-up jacket. I throw them both on and re-tie my hair before grabbing my bag and racing out the door.

I don't want to talk to Chet now. I don't want to face his despair when he realizes he has to find a new babysitter the night before. I don't want to see Angie's face fall when she learns that I'll be leaving for a week, like I used to. She thought those days were over. I did too.

Guilt churns my insides like butter. I don't want to face them, but I know that I need to. They need me to as well.

So I do.

It goes over about as well as I thought it would. That doesn't make it any easier.

Chet sighs.

Angie cries.

I feel like shit.

I close their door and try not to cry myself. I'll be back. It's only a week. Even if I _do_ move to SHIELD's "new" base, I'll have to come back for my stuff. And, you know, call my boss to tell her I'm quitting and call my landlord to tell him I'm leaving and call my dentist to tell her I'm unavailable for next week.

Before going to the rooftop, I decide to check my mail so that it doesn't pile up while I'm gone. Not that it ever does. I take the stairs, like usual because _exercise_ , and find my mailbox with ease. I insert my key and pull the door open. My arm is deep inside when I hear him.

"I assure you, it's fine Mr. Hinamori. I wasn't out there long."

A shiver crawls along my spine like a spider and my shoulders tense in reaction. He's here. Matt's here. _Now_. What is he doing here? My heart thuds loudly as if trying to catch someone's attention. He can't be here to see me. He doesn't even know I live here.

More importantly, why am I freaking out about this?

I close the mailbox quietly and turn around slowly. There he is, standing in front of the elevator with a Japanese man who must be Mr. Hinamori. Matt is leaning casually on his cane, one hand folded over the other, half-facing me and half-not. He's the picture of calm, cool, and collected.

He's the opposite of me right now.

Suddenly my brain kicks into overdrive. I hadn't even realized it had been stalling until now. Hinamori must be Matt's latest client. But if that's true, then where's Foggy? Their law firm is "Nelson and Murdock" not "Murdock and occasionally Nelson" and definitely not "Either Nelson or Murdock or both depending on how we feel today".

The disappointment registers belatedly and I feel like a deflated balloon. He's not here for me. He doesn't want to make it up to me or… even talk to me. He's not interested. Sure, he's perfectly cordial and polite and charming when engaged, but without prompting he doesn't engage first. It's always me trying to get him to talk.

Not this time.

We've missed our chance. Twice. Though not for lack of trying (on my part). Screw him. I don't need hi-

"Viola!" Mr. Ali walks through the front door, a big grin on his face and a white envelope in one hand. He heads straight for me, unknowingly blowing my cover. "How are you today?" He asks in heavily accented English.

"Well, thank you," I reply, glancing back at Matt to see if he heard.

His head flicks slightly in my direction and his ear twitches. That's actually really cute. Except it shouldn't be because _I'm over him_. So I slept with him at a party when I wouldn't sleep with any of previous boyfriends. So what if I lost my virginity to him? It's not like he's aware of that fact. Well, maybe he is. He never asked and I never said. We just did. So what if I'd only known him like an hour? It was just chemistry. Nothing more. I asked him for his number the next morning. I wanted it to be more. Friends at the very least. And he'd said no.

So yeah. Screw him. I've got a mission to go on.

At that reminder, the excitement returns in a fresh wave. I turn fully to Mr. Ali. "I would stay and chat, but I really have to go. Tell Mrs. Ali I said hi!" I call behind me as I walk away, waving and grinning like an idiot. I can't help but wonder if Matt was listening, but that's the last time I think about him today.

 _I'm so excited_.

I can't decide what I'm most looking forward to. The rush of a fight? Being part of a team? Using my fans? Making more money? Flying far, far away from here?

That last one strikes a chord with me and I pause in the middle of climbing the stairs. I shake my head and keep going. I still have seven more floors to cover and I don't want to keep the agents waiting.

What I'm looking forward to most is freedom. Escape from the confines of my apartment, from this city, from the mundane. I need change. I need danger-

No. Not danger. Not anymore.

I need to feel the wind in my hair when I run.

I need to feel victorious after a successful mission.

I need to see the world.

I burst onto the roof with alacrity, circling the building in one graceful dance. The door slams shut and it feels final. It's both thrilling and alarming.

I'm coming back.

Of course I'm coming back.

I have to come back.

Overhead, the grey clouds begin to shimmer. Only then do I notice the cold. I'm not even wearing boots or my winter jacket, scarf, mittens, anything. I'm just in my regular clothes but my exhilaration is keeping me warm.

The shimmering focuses on a single point in the sky, distorting the clouds like a funhouse mirror. A hole opens in the fabric of time and space-

Except it's just the bay doors of the quinjet, cloaked with invisibility panels. A man and a woman stand at either side of the door, the wind from the jet swirling the woman's hair into her face. The man tosses down a rope and it swings into place a few feet in front of me.

I don't hesitate.

The second I've grabbed hold and wrapped the rope around my fists and ankles, I begin to climb. The man and woman haul me into the jet, reeling the rope back in after me. The door whirs shut.

Familiarity settles around me like an aura despite the unfamiliar faces standing at either side of me. The quinjet is exactly like I remember, black and chrome and sleek and spacious. There's five seats against each wall with seatbelts and handles attached. This jet is probably a new model, but it feels the same as all the others I've ridden in my life.

I grin, dropping my bag on the floor with a _plop_. "Hi," I say, unsure if I should introduce myself right away or after we've exchanged greetings.

"Hey," the two agents say back, the man giving a little wave. He seems almost timid, but that's not quite it.

"Welcome aboard," says the woman, giving me a closed-mouthed smile. She holds out her hand. "Bobbi Morse."

I shake her hand, looking up at her to return her smile. She must be almost six feet tall, with long blonde hair and a sharp face. "I know that name from somewhere…" I say, though her face is unfamiliar to me.

She smiles mysteriously.

"I like your hair," I say, because I do.

"That's not what it really looks like," blurts the man on my other side. He has a decidedly British-sounding accent.

I turn to look at him. He seems to be debating whether or not he should take it back before sticking out his hand. "Lance Hunter," he says.

Slightly amused, I shake his hand. "Viola Stevenson," I introduce, though they probably already knew that if they were expecting me.

Morse gestures behind her, towards the cockpit. "That's Agent Melinda May, our pilot."

An older Chinese woman looks over her shoulder to stare at me, her expression blank. She sizes me up and then nods once before returning to flying the plane. She and I met last year.

"She's kind of anti-social," Morse whispers loudly.

"I heard that," calls May.

"So what's in Japan?" I ask, kicking my bag under one of the benches so that it's not in the way. Morse walks over to the same bench and sits down, her legs crossed casually. Hunter falls into a seat across from her, keeping his distance but visually remaining within an area polite enough for conversation.

There's something going on between the two of them, but I'm not sure what it is yet. I take the seat next to Morse, very close in comparison to Hunter but I have no qualms being near a fellow agent.

"Did you hear about what happened with the U.N.?" Morse asks.

I nod.

"Well, one of our other agents, Jemma Simmons, you'll meet her soon, recognized the weapon used in the attack as the work of Toshiro Mori, a demolitions expert based in Okinawa, Japan. Simmons and I were both acting as moles within Hydra to gain their trust, but both of our covers were blown, hence why we're here at SHIELD. There's a chance that word of my 'betrayal'," she emphasized the word with air quotes, "hasn't reached Japan yet. I've had previous interactions with Mori and I know a bit of how he works."

"So SHIELD was framed?"

"But we don't know by whom."

"So is this gonna be an interrogation?"

"Yup. Hopefully a clean one," chimes Hunter. He opens his mouth as if to speak again, probably to say something insensitive if I had to guess, then closes it again, glancing at Morse for a second before looking away.

There's _definitely_ some sort of tension between them.

"What's our ETA?" I ask.

"A couple hours," May replies.

"Plenty of time to get you caught up," Morse says and smiles.

* * *

 **A/N. Apologies for the delay. It looks like I'm going to fall into that routine again - the one where I update whenever I have the time (which is usually about once a month (or once every couple of months). I'm really sorry, but I won't be updating much. Luckily for you guys, it turns out that I had this chapter and the next one written out already and forgot about it. So you get them both on the same day. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer - I don't own Daredevil, Agents of SHIELD, or any Marvel properties.**


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

I've been to Japan before. Tokyo Tower was amazing. The sushi was great. The culture was fantastic. It's a really cool country. But now it's like I'm seeing a whole new side of it. Granted, I've never been to Okinawa specifically, but this has nothing to do with the city. My feelings of disgust come solely from the Hydra base hidden inside, populated with people who believe that security is worth freedom and that genocide can be justified.

The building itself is nice enough, all straight geometrical shapes, mostly triangles and squares with red trimming along the roofs. Dozens of people walk around, many armed, many more dressed in business suits discussing world domination probably. You can't even tell it's a Hydra base from the outside (which was probably the point). Dozens upon dozens of red lanterns hang from various ledges around the building, some of the only sources of light at this time of night.

After some deliberation, we decide that Morse would try and use her cover to get Mori to brag about the weapon, but if anything goes wrong then the rest of us will bust in and help out. Hunter, May, and I sit at the ready in the quinjet, listening in on comms and watching through the security cameras we hacked.

"Data intercepts up and running. We have audio and visual from the security cameras and access to any cellular communications," explains Hunter, watching Morse on the screen without ever taking his eyes off her.

Morse gets past security with ease and then just as easily finds Mori. She says something to him that I can't quite catch.

May looks impressed. "She speaks Japanese."

Hunter shifts uncomfortably. "She has this annoying knack of picking things up really quickly," he sighs.

Morse and Mori exchange some more words, sidling closer and closer and then… they kiss. My eyebrows shoot up. Morse didn't mention anything about that. I glance at Hunter and he looks even more uncomfortable, maybe even jealous. They have to be exes of some sort.

May just seems amused. "Still like option two?" She asks him.

Hunter gives her a _look_.

Seeing as Morse's cover hasn't been blown, I settle in to watch them have the equivalent of a date. Luckily the two of them remain in sight of surveillance at all times so we can keep watch.

Morse and Mori sit down at a table outside, one you might find at a restaurant, and exchange a few words in Japanese before switching to English. _"Do you still have that pan-fired green tea?"_ She asks, leaning forward on the table. _"It's from the Shizouoka prefecture, right?"_

 _"You always remember every little detail."_

I can't see their expressions with the camera so far away, but I think Morse smiles.

Hunter's nose twitches. "Try being married to someone who remembers every little detail. It's not that charming," he quips.

I raise my eyebrows. "You two were married?"

He looks at me in surprise. "Oh. Yeah. But we, um, we're divorced now. For obvious reasons."

Hmm.

May rolls her eyes.

Hunter doesn't miss it. "You think I'm being petty, don't you? Well I'm not. I don't have a problem with Bob kissing that guy."

The fact that he refers to Mori as "that guy" makes me suspicious but I don't comment. I'm sensing some sort of unease, if not jealousy, from Hunter but I get the feeling that pointing that out would not put me in his good books.

"Good," says May, "because you had a hickey for a week after our mission in Miami." Maybe pointing it out would put me in May's good books, I think as I fight a smile.

Hunter seems a bit flustered. "Excuse me for doing my job thoroughly," he counters. "And with style."

On the screen, Morse and Mori flirt some more before Morse gets right down to business. Mori asks about the rumours she's a traitor and Morse rebuffs the question like swatting away a fly.

"The poor sap's buying every word she says," Hunter comments unnecessarily. Something's obviously bothering him.

"That's what we want," May reminds him, sounding bored.

"I just feel sorry for the guy," Hunter defends, shrugging his shoulders. "Making targets feel special – that's her thing." Just when I think he'll shut up for a second, he keeps going. "You know, when I gave her my Nan's pearl earrings, she was like-"

"You know I don't like you, right?" May says calmly.

Hunter blinks and I resist the urge to giggle. Instead, I pat him on the shoulder and say, "Don't worry, Hunter. I haven't known you long enough to dislike you yet."

"Gee, thanks."

Anyone who gives their girlfriend/wife their grandma's pearl earrings seems sweet to me. I kind of wish I knew the whole story now.

 _"I call them Splinter Bombs,"_ says Mori on the camera. _"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"_ I can tell from his tone that, like Morse said, he's the bragging type.

 _"Is there any way for me to get my hands on a Splinter Bomb? Those really are a thing of beauty."_ Wow, she's laying it on thick.

Mori eyes her for a second before leaning back in his chair. _"Unfortunately, I shipped them all out yesterday. Plus, I can't take all the credit. Original specs came from Hydra technology way back when."_

 _"Whitehall gave them to you."_

"Who's Whitehall?" I ask.

"Long story," May replies. I wait for an elaboration or at least a brief summary, but nothing comes.

 _"Yes,"_ says Mori _. "A leap of faith. I just hope I've earned a chance to work on the Diviner."_

 _"The Diviner?"_

 _"That's what the lunatic who brought it to him calls it, anyway."_ He leans forward and Morse does too. They speak quieter now, but thanks to the comms, the volume hardly changes. _"I heard it's alien."_

My eyebrows shoot up. I wasn't aware we were dealing with _those_ kinds of threats.

Hunter and May turn to look at each other with wide-eyed recognition. They're obviously not thinking along the same tracks as me. "You don't think he means-?"

"The Obelisk," May cuts in.

"The what?" I ask.

The tablet in Hunter's lap beeps and he looks down. "Toshiro's people have an incoming message." He swipes left. I stand to peer over his shoulder. On the screen is a picture of Morse with big bold letters on top and bottom.

 _NEW DIRECTIVE: ELIMINATE_

 _SUBJECT: BARBARA MORSE_

"Oh no," Hunter mutters.

May immediately turns to him. "What?"

Instead of explaining, Hunter practically shoves me out of the way as he presses a button on the wall and jumps out of the quinjet. "Hunter!" I call, but he doesn't listen. I run after him, pulling my gun out of its holster. May closes the door to the cloaked jet and jogs to catch up.

I can still hear the conversation on comms, but I'm not paying that much attention anymore. Something about Beckers?

Hunter rounds the corner first, firing off a round almost immediately. I appear next, pulling the trigger twice more to take down a guard stationed behind Mori. Morse and Mori enter an altercation which Morse quickly wins and May and I take out the rest of the guards in seconds.

It's silent, but May and I keep our weapons raised just in case. I can't help but smile, my heart beating a bit faster. I've missed this. The men I've shot groan in pain, but don't get up.

Morse storms over to Hunter and takes her gun back from him, as he'd confiscated it earlier. "You can thank me later," he says confidently.

Morse glowers. I can't blame her. "Thank you? What the hell were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking? I just saved your life."

"You don't think I knew that guy was behind me? This? This is just you peacocking."

"He- He made you! And he was gonna kill you! And, Sweetheart, nobody uses the word 'peacocking'."

One of the groaning guards tries to get up but Morse and Hunter turn in sync and shoot him.

In sync.

Then they continue with their bickering. "Are you even listening to yourself right now?" Morse asks in disbelief. "Oh wait, of course you are. You _love_ the sound of your own voice-"

"Because it's reasonable! One of us has to be," he mumbles.

Morse shakes her head. "This is what makes you so aggravating to be with."

"Hence not with me anymore! Lucky us."

"Yeah-"

"Really?" May sighs and both agents turn to look at her.

Hunter's mouth is open, aghast and struggling for words. "I just saved her life _twice_ and _this_ is the thanks I get." Why is it that he's always defending himself? Maybe it's because someone is always accusing him of something. Or maybe it's because he feels guilty about everything.

May rolls her eyes and starts walking back to the jet. I follow, still unsure of my place in the social order of this team. Hunter and Morse trudge in behind me.

"Toshiro said that they were going after Beckers," says May. "Recognize the name?"

"Yeah," Morse affirms, using her long legs to pass me and walk alongside her. "Julien Beckers, Belgian foreign affairs minister."

From behind, Hunter tries to contribute to the conversation. "The guy who's been keeping the peace?"

Morse sounds like she's explaining things to a small child. "If Scarlotti's team takes out Beckers, even the neutral U.N. countries are gonna fall in line with Senator Ward's proposal."

"Call Coulson," May orders as we reach the jet. "We're heading to Belgium."

Hunter sighs. "Bad day to be SHIELD, eh?" He turns to me. "Not the greatest first day, I suppose."

"Oh, today's not my first day," I assure him. "I've been working for SHIELD for five years. After Hydra took over I thought the organization went extinct," I explain as I enter the plane. Hunter follows and sits down across from me in the back. Morse plops down in the cock pit with May. "I didn't think to come back until I saw the news this afternoon."

"You found out SHIELD was still a thing today? And you're already on a mission?"

"Well it's not like I need any training or briefing or anything. Coulson knows I'm not Hydra."

Suddenly he eyes me warily. "How?"

"Because when the Triskelion went down and Romanoff leaked all of SHIELD's intel online, I nearly died."

"Care to elaborate?"

I figure there's no harm in some storytelling. "I was on a mission in Sharzhad, a small African territory on the border between Libya and Egypt owned by infamous arms dealer Dagan Shah. Agent Barton and I were deep undercover trying to gain his trust and take down the business from the inside. We'd been there for months when news of our true identities was leaked and we were attacked. Clint got a knife to the side and I got a bullet in the back."

Hunter winced. "Sorry."

Morse twisted in her chair to look at me. "Did you say Clint Barton?"

"Yeah."

"Are you still in touch?"

"I- no." I fail to see how that's relevant. "I mean, I could call him if I wanted, but we're not really social outside of work. I haven't spoken to him since the mission. Why do you ask?"

"She's got a bit of a past with him," Hunter answers bitterly.

Speaking over him, Morse says loudly: "We're going up against Scarlotti and his men. They're the ones who orchestrated the U.N. attack and Scarlotti and Barton have history. Maybe you could ask about him?"

"Why don't I just invite him over to help us out?"

Morse and May exchange looks. "I'm not sure we want the Avengers involved in this."

"Clint was an agent long before he was an Avenger. And if he comes, Natasha will probably come too." It feels weird being on a sort of first name basis with the Avengers when I'm in front of other people.

"The Avengers need to keep their distance from SHIELD," Morse explains. "Especially at times like this. The public doesn't need another reason to hate them."

"Hate them?" I repeat in confusion. "But they're the Avengers."

"In any case, is there any way you can just… call him? Ask for intel?"

"I suppose."

"Great." She turns back to face the window.

Hunter rolls his eyes and juts his thumb in her direction. I hush him and pull out my phone to call Clint. It takes me a second to dial because I haven't seen him in a while, but no more than that.

It rings.

 _"The person you are trying to reach has an automated voice messaging system. _ is not available. Please leave a message after the beep."_ I hang up instead. No time for phone tag.

"He's not answering," I announce.

Hunter shrugs, probably secretly pleased. "What can you do?"

"I want to know about this alien stuff you guys are dealing with," I say out of the blue. "What's the Obelisk? And where's it from?"

For a moment, no one speaks. Hunter looks distinctly uncomfortable. Morse glances at him then seems to take pity on him and answers. "We're not sure. We just know that it's alien and very, very dangerous."

"Like, turn people into statues that crumble into dust kind of dangerous," Hunter adds helpfully.

Wow. Okay. "Toshiro said it was called the 'Diviner'?"

"Yeah," Morse confirms. "That's the first time we've heard it called that."

I hum. "Doesn't sound familiar, but I can take a look through some archives to see if I can find any info on it."

"I doubt you'll find anything," says Hunter. "The thing's not from this world." He looks out the window as he says this.

"That doesn't mean humans have never seen it before," I argue. "I have a degree in Mythology from NYU. I can get access to some research sites and look for any trace of it in our history or stories. Do you think it's Asgardian?"

"Probably not," May responds. "One of the Asgardians would have claimed it by now if it was causing trouble in another realm. But we did find a painting with the same symbols on the Obelisk carved in the back."

"Really? Can you show it to me?"

"Maybe later." I translate that to: _when I trust you_.

Something else tugs at my mind. "So who's Whitehall?"

The three agents take turns telling me everything they know about him. Basically he's the big bad. A head of Hydra. Tall. White hair. Glasses. Strong German accent. Apparently he thinks he can use the Diviner to take over the world. Typical Hydra stuff. Whitehall has the Diviner, which is bad. SHIELD needs to get it back in addition to clearing their name before Senator Ward's anti-SHIELD proposal passes.

By the way, Senator Ward is Grant Ward's brother.

Also by the way, Grant Ward is Hydra.

I met him a couple of times, all of which were when he was associated with Coulson's team. He seemed like a decent guy. Had a thing for Skye. It bothers me that I couldn't tell he was a backstabbing traitor, but no one else could either so I can't really blame myself.

So apparently Senator Ward doesn't want his family tree released to the public, so he's trying to bury SHIELD. Hence the proposal. What's probably most surprising is that Ward, the evil one, is being held captive in SHIELD's basement.

I don't really have time to process that before our comms crackle to life. _"Does anybody copy?"_

"This is Agent May. The whole team's here. We copy."

As usual, Coulson gets straight down to business. _"Skye and I are in my office. I struck a deal with the Senator. He'll reverse his anti-SHIELD proposal in exchange for his brother."_

Oh. Well that makes things simpler.

"Long time coming," says May. "And Skye?"

 _"I got everything I needed."_

"Good."

Hunter leans forward to whisper to me. "Coulson tasked her with interrogating him. They had a bit of a thing going on."

"So I gather," I reply.

"We'll touch down in Belgium soon," May continues. "Try to get to Beckers before Whitehall's team does."

 _"I don't have to remind you that if he's killed, the U.N. will come after us no matter what the Senator says or does,"_ Coulson warns.

Right. No pressure. But that's okay. I thrive under pressure.

"We'll be in touch." May cuts off the link. "Try and get some sleep," she advises.

"Yeah, don't think that's gonna happen," Hunter grunts, leaning back on the bench so that his head thunks against the wall. A beat. "Was that an attempt to get me to shut up?"

"Worth a shot."

My lips twitch. "No one seems to like you very much," I tease.

"Oh it's just them two. Everyone else at SHIELD likes me."

I somehow find that a little hard to believe. I wisely choose not to tell him this. "Who else is at SHIELD?"

Hunter shrugs. "Hell if I know. I only know the mains. Everyone else are just faceless agents that walk around to make the place look less empty."

Morse rolls her eyes in irritation. I get the feeling she does that a lot when he's around. "That's a bit of a tall order," she says, but starts listing them off anyway. I recognize Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz, Skye, and a handful of other names.

"I know someone who might be willing to rejoin," I confess, already reaching into my pocket.

"Do you know with absolute certainty that they're not Hydra?" May asks.

"Of course! I wouldn't ask them otherwise. Any of you met Sharon Carter?"

No one gives me an affirmative.

"She's a great agent. Hard-working. Loyal. Bit of a perfectionist."

"And how do you know she's not Hydra?"

"A: she's my best friend. But I sense that's not good enough for you. B: Nick Fury himself assigned her to watch over Captain America and Sonata when they were stationed in DC. And C: don't tell her I told you this, but she's Peggy Carter's great niece."

Morse immediately looks impressed. " _The_ Peggy Carter?"

"The very same."

Morse looks over at May. "I say we call her up."

It takes a moment, but May eventually nods her assent.

I dial.

 _"Hey, Viola."_ I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Hey." I smile back. "How are you?"

 _"Good. Things are finally looking up for me. I smell a promotion!"_

My smile widens. "That's great! Except I have a job offer for you." Okay, that felt pretty tactless.

There's a pause. _"A job offer."_

"Yeah. I- Hey, this line is secure, right?"

 _"Of course."_ She sounds offended I even had to ask. _"Viola, what is this?"_

"SHIELD isn't dead."

Another pause. _"What do you mean?"_

I do my best to explain to her what I know and what exactly I'm offering.

 _"Viola… I… I don't think I want to come."_

"What? Why not? We'll be on a team again. It'll be like the old days. I hardly ever see you now."

 _"I know. I'm sorry. I tried to put in a good word for you at the CIA-"_

"I'm not mad about that," I assure her. "But this is _SHIELD_. This is what your aunt Peggy worked so hard for."

 _"Look, I'm glad that SHIELD is back. Really. But have you seen the news lately? The bad press is really bad. And… I'm in a good place. I like working for the CIA. And that promotion could come any day now."_

"I won't force you," I say, trying to hide my disappointment. "I mean, I couldn't if I tried, but you know what I mean. If you're good where you are, I wouldn't want to mess that up either."

 _"Thank you for understanding. So I guess you're a SHIELD agent again?"_

The grin crawls back onto my face. "Yeah."

 _"How does it feel?"_

"It feels great. I'm back in the field. I don't smell like coffee. Only downside is that because SHIELD is rogue, nobody gets paid. I mean, I get free room and board and food and stuff, but still. No government funding. No money."

 _"That sucks."_

I sigh. "Yeah. But even so, it's so much better than working in customer service. Ugh. There's only so many customers I can take who yell at me because they messed up their own order."

 _"Speaking of the coffee shop, how's everything on the Matt Murdock front?"_

I sigh again, aware that I'm now having girl talk on a completely silent quinjet in an enclosed space with three other people. "Nonexistent?"

She whines in disappointment. _"Valentine's Day's coming up too. That sucks."_

"Tell me about it."

 _"Okay, well, I'll let you off the hook. I actually have to get back to work."_

"Oh, sorry."

 _"Don't worry about it. I needed a break. I'll see you soon, okay? You can come visit whenever you like."_

I smile wistfully. "I might hold you to that."

She chuckles. _"See you soon."_

"Bye." I hang up.

Morse and May are staring steadfastly out the window. Hunter is staring at me. "So I take it she's not coming?"

* * *

By the time we touch down in Belgium, dawn has already started. The morning is pink and yellow and glowing. The sky is streaked with clouds, tinted and shaded like a beautiful painting. The buildings are tall and made of brick, most with some element of red. Everything feels distinctly European, even the street lights that are still lit.

We hide the jet on a tall, flat building (cloaked) and climb down the side with the help of a grappling hook. It's a bit of a trek to the SHIELD safe house, but we don't mind the walk. Hunter and Morse are fairly easy to talk to (individually, that is). Halfway there, Morse insists I call her Bobbi just as the comms crackle again.

 _"Agents, it's a trap. Do not engage._ "

Everyone stops in their tracks. May holds a hand to her ear. "Coulson, what's wrong?"

 _"Julien Beckers is Hydra and the Netherlands SHIELD unit isn't responding."_

"Scarlotti," Bobbi says darkly. "He's here."

"This can't have been a trap for us," I say. "Toshiro was tricked into giving us that information… right?"

"Right," Bobbi confirms. "Which means that their target was the Netherlands unit. It's a pretty small team. They must have figured Coulson would assign them to Beckers since he was the only one to support SHIELD. He was bait and we fell for it."

"This just became a rescue mission," Hunter says with a smile. Everyone turns to look at him, unamused. His eyes widen. "What? You'd rather be on protection detail? This is much more fun."

Bobbi huffs and starts walking faster, which is easy to do with her long legs. Hunter's legs are only slightly shorter, but he lets her gain distance from him. May glares at him and then catches up with Bobbi. I stay next to Hunter as we walk, careful to stay in the shadows and not draw too much attention to ourselves. We're all in our battle gear, after all.

Bobbi's got her black and blue full-body armour and her batons holstered to her thigh. May has her signature leather vest and long sleeve combo. I've got my Kevlar-lined bodysuit with the SHIELD patches ripped off and replaced with forest green Chinese characters. My adamantium fans are strapped to each thigh and my hair is in a ponytail. Hunter… is dressed like normal: jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket.

He explains that he's not a SHIELD agent, never was. He was a soldier in the British Armed Forces but eventually became a mercenary. He's a bit vague with the details but he assures me that he only ever killed the bad guys.

In return, I tell him about how my dad was SHIELD and that I'm sort of his legacy. He wasn't well known in the organization, or anything, but I'm like the next generation. I do admit to him though that I really like being an agent and that I can't see myself doing anything else.

We arrive at the safe house in less than twenty minutes. I volunteer to spy inside and assess the situation. Crawling as silently as I can, I sneak up to the windows of the inconspicuous house in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. It's several stories high, like the others, with lots of big windows to let the sun in. Most of them have been closed, though, which is highly suspicious, even for a hideout.

One window on the ground level is left ajar and I peer through the crack. The hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand on end. Inside, several men stand around, all armed and wearing Kevlar. Against the wall is a woman, clearly SHIELD from the way she's spitting at the man with a bad haircut who seems to be the leader, and she's turning to stone. And _disintegrating_.

I've seen some crazy shit in my life, but this is pretty high up there. Right behind giant flying robots controlled by this idiotic genius who's actually too stupid to be truly evil. Those Splinter Bombs were harnessing alien technology to create weapons. _Viola, what have you gotten yourself into?_

I tip-toe back to the team hiding in the alley around the corner and report my findings. May closes her eyes in grief for a moment. She must have known the woman whose death I just witnessed. In a blink it's gone and May's expressionless mask is back in place. "Alright. They don't know we're here so we have the element of surprise. And, except for Bobbi, they don't know our faces. We can use that. Hunter, you're going to be the distraction. You'll go in there posing as Hydra and then ask for a job."

Hunter nods.

"Bobbi and I will burst through the windows ninety seconds after you walk in and start shooting. Stevenson, you'll enter at the same time but behind Hunter and we'll engage. If there's any agents left alive in there, our main priority is to get them out. Then we take out the Hydra goons. Clear?"

"Clear," we repeat.

"Move out."

 _… 1 … 2 …_

We scatter, Hunter slinging his duffel bag of weapons even higher on his shoulder. He approaches the door and I press my back to the wall beside it, gun held close to me as he gets ready to knock. He looks at me as if for reassurance. I'm not sure that's what he wants from me, but I nod encouragingly anyway. He seems satisfied, nodding to himself. He hops on the spot, shifting from foot to foot like he's about to do something athletic. He takes two steps back, then stalks forward and kicks the door open. The wood splinters beneath the force and explodes open. Something wooden clatters to the floor as Hunter strides in and out of sight. But I can still hear.

At least a dozen guns cock and click at Hunter's dramatic entrance. He's a very effective distraction, I think as I watch May and Bobbi scale the walls to reach the windows.

"Woah, woah, woah!" says Hunter, getting further away from me. "Hail Hydra, guys. Hail Hydra." _Thunk._ "I'm unarmed." _Clap._ "Not looking for any trouble."

"Who sent you?" That American voice is probably Scarlotti.

Hunter avoids the question. _Clink-clank._ "Have you tried the beer around here? This is from Straffe Hendrik, little brewery around the corner. Ask for Zoe. She'll hook you up."

Either he's making all of this stuff up on the spot or he's been here before. And he's been busy. I choose to believe it's the former. It seems much more impressive that way.

"Here, sweetheart, you can have the first one. Looks like you could use it." A pause. "That face! So dour."

I'm trying really hard not to laugh.

Scarlotti is not as easily amused. "You've got ten seconds to tell me exactly what you're doing here."

"I'm a merc, mate. Like you lot. And if you're looking to take out a few SHIELD agents higher up the food chain, I happen to know a couple." There's a tense silence. For a split second, I doubt him. Is he turning us in? Is he actually Hydra? Would he betray Bobbi? "They just need about… ninety seconds to get in position. "

… _89…_

Scarlotti's voice radiates question marks. "Huh?"

… _90._

Glass explodes as Bobbi and May burst through the windows. I spin out from my hiding spot and point my gun. I count seven hostiles. May and Bobbi each take down one just from their entrance and I take down a third with one bullet. Scarlotti turns in a rage to Hunter, who deflects. Scarlotti takes the opportunity to run.

"Viola! With me!" May takes off after him. I'm not far behind. Several grunts and thwacks get quieter the further we go.

Scarlotti doesn't seem to know where he's going. He ends up at a dead end in an empty, weirdly hexagonal-ish room. May and I enter and spread out, stances at the ready for any move he makes. We all know he's cornered. We also all know that bad guys never do things the easy way.

With a smirk, Scarlotti unrolls a long chain at the end of which is a sharp point. I briefly wonder if Clint has a scar from that very same weapon before I clamp down on my thoughts and focus. May and I step tentatively around the room as Scarlotti twirls his ball and chain. Quick as a whip, he launches the chain forward and May leans to the side. The point whizzes past her and embeds itself in the wall. May raises an eyebrow.

I pull out my fans. With a flick of the wrist they snap open, thin and sharp enough to cut through skin. Scarlotti grins at me and yanks his weapon back towards him, catching it in a spin that he keeps going as he moves, side stepping around the room. May and I mirror him.

Scarlotti sends the chain whirling in my direction. I drop to the floor and roll forward, swiping at his legs with my left fan. He spins out of the way and into May's jump kick. Her foot slams into his face as I twist to my feet. Scarlotti stumbles a few steps and then regains his footing. He pulls the chain from its hole in the wall and swings it around and around. He falls to his knees and loosens its grip. The chain seems to grow in length and sweeps over the entire room. I jump over it as easily as I would rope in elementary school, as does May, but it just keeps going. He stands and then he kneels and then he swings twice more before standing again. The pattern is erratic and unpredictable. I'm too busy dodging to get a good hit in.

I have to stop the chain with something. Unfortunately, it's gaining speed and thus more power. If I stop it with any of my limbs, it's gonna hurt like hell. Maybe I can get him to hit the wall again. Then May and I can double attack.

I land another dive in a crouch and fling my right fan at him. It spins like a Frisbee and Scarlotti dodges it easily, moving his leg up to let it soar past. It's enough. The chain's perfect momentum is broken and it scratches the walls, slowing down. May jumps at the chance I've given her and catches the chain with her bare hands. She wraps it around her knuckles and tugs.

Scarlotti refuses to let go and falls forward, landing gut-first on May's steel-toed boot. All the air in his lungs leaves him in a whoosh and he drops to his knees. Still, he doesn't let go. May tries to wring his neck with the chain but be deflects and somersaults to the side. May keeps hold of her end and for a second it's like tug of war.

I charge. He kicks away my low kick and then ducks under my high kick. I throw a punch and he traps my arm in the chain like a vice and yanks it tight. I gasp in pain as my arm bruises and loses circulation. I grit my teeth and swing my other arm. Seeing as both of his are occupied strangling my one limb, I catch him in the teeth.

 _Ow._

He spits out blood and his grip loosens just enough that I can slip away. I grab my fallen fan and stand again, bending my knees until I'm crouching like a tiger. May twirls under the chain, twisting Scarlotti's grip, and then knocks his feet out from under him. He hits the ground hard. I can hear his skull impact the floor. But he's still conscious. That's a problem.

I take two steps then fold into an aerial cartwheel, landing beside his head with one foot and kicking him solidly in the temple with the other. He goes limp, blood pooling beside him. I suspect I may have broken a tooth or two. I inspect my hand. It still stings. Oh well. Worth it.

The sounds of fighting from the foyer have died down too. I'm fairly confident we won.

May drops the chain with disgust and then looks at me. "You do Tai Chi?"

I suppose she was able to tell from my fighting style. "Every morning if I can," I reply, though it's not the martial arts I rely on most for fighting. It's more of a psychological practice than a fine tuning of my physical skills.

May humphs and promptly handcuffs Scarlotti. Together, she and I drag him down the hall and back toward the front door, where Bobbi and Hunter stand waiting, actually speaking civilly with each other.

I smile and wipe sweat from my brow. Hunter was right. That _was_ fun. God, I miss this. The adrenaline. The impulsion of a fight. The pure instinct.

"Any survivors?" May asks and thoroughly bursts my happy bubble.

Bobbi and Hunter shake their heads.

My smile dissipates. The SHIELD agents that had lived here… all dead. This is the part of the job that I don't miss. The sense of failure. We defeated the goons, but we were too late to save anyone. I've learned that if I think about it too much, I'll get the urge to light a cigarette in a pathetic attempt to make the guilt go away. It's better to accept that what happened happened and we can't change it. No use dwelling on the past, as they say.

Easier said than done.

May sighs. "I'll make the call." She steps out of the room to phone Coulson.

I look around at the men and women lying all over the floor, at the shards of glass by the broken windows and at the hinges of the door Hunter had unintentionally ripped off with his kick. "Guess we should clean this place up," I say quietly.

Together, the three of us bend down and begin tidying. After a bit, I leave to search the house for a broom and dustpan to sweep up the glass. I find one in the kitchen and make my way back to the foyer. Hunter stands in the middle of the room, his bag over his shoulder and staring at the doorway to my right. Bobbi's nowhere to be seen.

Warily, I step closer. "Hunter?"

He snaps awake from whatever daze he was in. "Huh? Yeah?"

"You okay?"

He glances back at the doorway, then at me. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He drops his bag with satisfying _thunk_. He smiles crookedly. "Where'd you find that?" He nods at the broom.

"In the kitchen."

"This place has a _kitchen_? What are we doing in here? Let's go see if they've got any beer in this joint." He jogs past me back the way I came. I chuckle and shake my head. As fast as I can, I sweep up all the glass in the dustpan and chase after him, leaving the broom in a corner as I take the stairs two at a time.

When I enter the kitchen, he's sipping on Smirnoff Ice. He holds one out to me, the lid already removed. "No beer, unfortunately. But hey, it's alcohol. Sort of."

I accept the drink from him and take a sip. "Are we celebrating something?"

He hesitates, avoiding my eyes for a second before he comes up with something to say. He raises his bottle. "To your re-recruitment to SHIELD."

"I don't think it's official until I meet with Director Coulson," I point out as I clink my drink against his.

He shrugs. "It's official enough to me." He takes a swig.

I feel an interesting friendship coming on.

At that moment, May enters the room. "General Talbot's on his way with the clean-up crew. It shouldn't be long."

"What are we supposed to do until he gets here?" Hunter asks, waving his bottle around.

May doesn't react except to blink coolly. "I'm sure we can think of a few questions to ask Scarlotti."

Hunter grins. He seems properly excited at the prospect of an interrogation. It's not necessarily my forte but that doesn't mean I can't get enjoyment out of watching someone else (namely May) drag secrets out of Hydra scumbags.

The interrogation goes fairly well, all things considered, but wasn't as entertaining as Hunter had hoped. Still, it gets us through until lunch time, when Talbot arrives with several other soldiers and his arm in a sling. I think I read that he was present at the U.N. attack. Wasn't he advocating for the anti-SHIELD proposal?

"We got Beckers at the Border," he announces, mostly to May but he eyes the rest of us too. Bobbi made a reappearance to watch the interrogation. "How many men did you lose?"

May pauses. The gravity of the situation feels heavy on our shoulders. "Six." Six people I never knew, but who were loyal to SHIELD. Who died before I could even try and help. I didn't even see their bodies. Six is just a number but it's so significant.

Talbot's shoulders betray his internal sigh. "It's always a shame when a good soldier falls." He bows his head in respect and then sticks out his hand.

May eyes him for a second. She shakes it. Talbot nods and backs away, Scarlotti now in his custody. He and the other soldiers file out. The safe house is empty except for May, Bobbi, Hunter, and me. It's almost like none of this ever happened.

But it did.

Hunter raises his hand. "I vote that Viola passes initiation. All in favour?"

Bobbi raises her hand without hesitation.

May looks at me. I know this isn't official and not at all how things are done at SHIELD but she decides to humour him and raises her hand as well. Despite the fact that it's February, I feel warm inside, like I'm glowing from the inside out.

"Thanks, guys."

"So are you ready to meet the team?" Hunter asks, hands on his hips.

"I'm pretty sure I've met most of them, but yeah. Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N. This chapter has a lot of scenes from the episode _A Fractured House_ from season 2. If I've made any inaccuracies with Agents of SHIELD dialogue or continuity, please let me know and I will fix it. Thanks.**


End file.
